


heaven's order

by stubborn_jerk



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Wine, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21681349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubborn_jerk/pseuds/stubborn_jerk
Summary: “That how angels are, then? Miracle everything to your convenience? None of the little human proprieties to come with it? What happened to it tasting better when you work for it?”Aziraphale slapped his book gently onto his knee, looking up at Crowley from the top of his little old spectacles like the impact would somehow transfer from his knee to Crowley’s. “Now, Iknowyou’re not pulling your little temptation routine on me just to be difficult, dear boy. It’s just for lunch.”“No, I’m genuinely curious now,” Crowley said, settling down on the seat next to Aziraphale. “How do angels treat magic? ‘Cause we’ve talked about how you treat power structures different and all that, but you never really cleared it with me before. What does that mean?”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Adam Young (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	heaven's order

**Author's Note:**

> after i wrote [of magic and sin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20663666) i knew i had to do something more lucrative, maybe a follow-up, maybe how to tie it into the world
> 
> before i knew it, i had this whole magic system that doesn't really tie up to the series, but _definitely_ fills in a lot of the things from the book, so i did that instead. so, spoilers for the book, i guess, haha.

An angel and a demon were contemplating lunch. 

Well, an angel was. The demon was busy trying to instill fear into the prideful apple tree in his garden that an Antichrist would most definitely be climbing and stealing from in the days to come. 

It made the demon, Anthony J. Crowley* feel just a little off-balance thinking about the exiled son of his old employer visiting them and stealing from his garden, but it has been the done thing for many years** now. 

[*Though he wasn’t always, and might not even be Anthony J. Crowley in a few years.

**The first time was impromptu. Adam had just honed in on their signal and brought his friends with him. Needless to say, Aziraphale hadn't gone that long talking to a group of children without being interrupted since the early 15th century in the first monastery he worked in.]

Five years, in fact, since the failed Armageddon.

The angel snapped his book shut with the air of finality. Crowley knew this, because he wiggled in his seat and looked at Crowley expectantly as he said, “We should get something Southeast Asian, my dear. I’ve a terrible craving for those lovely little sausages they do in Vigan, don’t you?”

Crowley inclined his head, dusting off the soil on his gloves with a few claps. “Sure, haven’t been too down south in a while. We flying economy or…?” He gestured vaguely behind him to indicate what would be his wings.

Aziraphale blinked at that, then his face crumpled into a proper pout, “Oh, I hadn’t thought that far, actually.”

Crowley chortled, “You’re ridiculous, angel. How on Earth were we getting you Filipino food in the middle of bumfuck, UK? We could drive up to London, see if they have anything vaguely palatable that isn’t a rip-off.”

With a derisive sniff, Aziraphale pointed a finger and cleaned the dirt off from Crowley’s gloves. “We’re magical beings, dear. It’s not a matter of _how_ as much it is a _when_. And you _know_ how I feel about ‘fusion cuisine.’”

“Yeah, yeah, _it just isn’t the same!_ ”

“I do _not_ sound like that.”

Taking his gloves off as he made his way to the back porch, Crowley made a face that could easily be categorized as endearingly confused. At least in Aziraphale’s books. “That how angels are, then? Miracle everything to your convenience? None of the little human proprieties to come with it? What happened to it tasting better when you work for it?”

Aziraphale slapped his book gently onto his knee, looking up at Crowley from the top of his little old spectacles like the impact would somehow transfer from his knee to Crowley’s. “Now, I know you’re not pulling your little temptation routine on me just to be difficult, dear boy. It’s just for lunch.”

“No, I’m genuinely curious now,” Crowley said, settling down on the seat next to Aziraphale. “How do angels treat magic? ‘Cause we’ve talked about how you treat power structures different and all that, but you never really cleared it with me before. What does that mean?”

Aziraphale stared at Crowley for a long moment. Crowley tried very hard not to break face just with the oddly stern face the angel had on.

“I need to be soused for this.”

“Yessss.”

“Foul fiend. You’re _still_ getting me lunch.”

“Promise, angel. Have you ever known me to break my promises? C’mon, up you get. There’s some good vintage, some French number I don’t remember. You’ll love it.”

* * *

“I don’t get it.”

Aziraphale gave a magnanimous sigh of dramatic proportions enough to snap Crowley out of his confusion and make a toast to it.

“What part, dear?”

“Uh?”

“That you don’t understand?”

Crowley slouched back into his seat to think about it, then wagged a finger around rather sloppily. “That whole nonsss— nonstra— no order thing. I thought Heaven was all _about_ the whole sssstr—bollocks, _order_ thing. Y’know, Nature and the like. Dear old Tom and Oggy* were raging about it, caught the whole buggering religion onto their weird little ideas, right? Natural order, sexual perversions. It’s in the Hell guidebook! I’d remember, that bloke Screwtape was all about it, you read that, right?”

[*Crowley, of course, is referring to St. Thomas Aquinas and St. Augustine of Hippo, neither of whom he was necessarily close with, but he loved making Aziraphale think otherwise.]

“Dear, Screwtape wasn’t real.”

“Oh, I _wish_. Imagine me getting schooled by some upstart who doesn’t even get out of Hell, lecturin’ me like I’m his nephew. So, now I am! Cool, innit?”

“That was something C.S. Lewis wrote, Crowley.”

“ _Please_ , ole Clive and I were buddies in the station, gave him all those stupid missives in his sssleep.”

Aziraphale took a moment to backdate the events to C. S. Lewis’ publication of The Screwtape Letters. “You weren’t even awake at that time, you were—you weren’t!”

Crowley took a swig of the wine, then made a satisfied sound with the smack of his lips, something he knew annoyed Aziraphale. “I was asleep in the _19 th_, angel, not the 20th. Ha! Now I believe you, I get it! Stra— _fuck_!”

“Structure”

“Yeah, that. No _order_. No order in heaven, angels can’t do math.”

“I never—” Aziraphale was indignant now, or mock-indignant. He was quite the actor. He had a hand to his chest in a sign of metaphorical pearl-clutching. “I _can_ do math, old boy, I’m the only one of us who does the taxes!”

“Yeah, and you have to use the computer for it, don’t you? Just admit it.”

Aziraphale huffed. He _did_ have to use the computer for it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be contrary about it. Just because he was an angel didn’t mean he had to be particularly agreeable or a pushover.

“We were talking about what you _didn’t_ get from my explanation. Clarify and we’d go on to a late lunch or an early dinner, at least.”

“You know what’s a virtue?”

“Hush up.”

Crowley grinned, then pushed a cold toe into the crook of Aziraphale’s arm. 

“Cheek,” Aziraphale admonished, elbowing the ice-cold thing away from him.

“I’m just saying, angel, why be the—what did you, embo—embid—fuck it. Why be the thing of order when—”

“Embodiment? Epitome?”

Crowley waved him off with a huff, “When you don’t have order anyway?”

Aziraphale gave him a look.

“Whatever happened to ‘practice what you preach*'?”

[*As much as Aziraphale loved his bible errors, sometimes the hallmark quote translations got on one’s nerves. Crowley delighted in this once he found out and relished in digging his heels into Babel’s grounds every time he hears put-upon sighs from the angel.]

The look intensified. “Dear, we both know Heaven is hypocritical.”

Crowley hummed as if to say _yes, of course, but that’s not my point_.

Aziraphale huffed, “Oh, then what _is_ your point then?”

“My point _issss_ … How on Earth does Hell have their shit together more than Upstairs?”

“Heaven does _so_ have their shit together, to borrow your terminlo…hm, term. They just don’t need the labels that come with it!”

Crowley whimpered out a laugh. “You said _shit_.”

Aziraphale topped up his glass. “Incorri… Annoying, s’what you are.”

“I still don’t get it. Just because you don’t _need_ the labels doesn’t mean you got to, you gotta… You _have to_ have order in Heaven, angel. S’what the choirs are for, right?”

“Never say choir* like that again.”

[*Chu-war.]

“Say what?”

“See, the choirs aren’t titles, my dear. They’re like… races. Numbers of wings and heads and such.”

Crowley sat up, nearly spilling his wine on the sofa. “Shit, really? I didn’t know about that. Or forgot about it. Y’know, head-dive off the clouds and into Hell, really messes with your headspace. Anyway, weren’t you a cherub before they demoted you? Four of everything. Did you lose heads? Did they…” He made a chopping motion, then lolled his tongue out as he inclined his head in a morbid imitation of a beheading. 

Aziraphale winced.

“They did _not_. Again, there is no order in Heaven. If they were going to demote me, there wouldn’t be a punishment, because they don’t need to put angels back in line. No one ever stepped out of any lines.”

“Nuh,” said Crowley, righting his head. “Those blokes that shagged humans and made nevin… neff…”

“Nephilim.”

“Yeah, them! Banished them into the ether, never to return again.”

“They knew what they did. When the trials came, those angels already knew what—”

“Yeah, alright, but what about you?”

The earnest hesitation in Crowley’s tone made Aziraphale pause and blink down at the slouching demon with his feet in Aziraphale’s lap. Crowley fidgeted with the stem of his wine glass, pouting over his chins as he swung his feet from left to right.

“Cherub to principality, hm?”

“Yes, quite. Erm—”

“So, what was it, the sword or me?”

“It was… _me_ , actually, dear. I’m not saying this to protect your feelings, no. Heaven just… they didn’t have… punishments for angels who didn’t, er, _do_ vague orders? I was assigned to guard the Eastern path to the Tree after Samael—you’d know them as Belkira—after they planted the Tree and bound off with Lilith.”

“Wait, that was them? I thought it was the Almi—oh…”

Aziraphale made a teetering gesture, as if to say _that and then some._ “Now you’re getting it.”

“Lame.” 

“Hush. So, they planted the Tree not on top of a mountain or the moon, but in the Garden, on purpose. Anyway, you popped up, what, North of the Tree?”

Crowley shrugged. “There-abouts, yeah.”

“And I was told to guard its denizens, who were around my neck of the woods as well. So, when you ended up tempting dear Hawwah, she’d wandered off somewhere else while I stayed guard at the path. Next thing I knew, the Almighty was scolding every being in the Garden for even _thinking_ of touching the Tree.”

“And how did they demote you, Upstairs?”

“I gave the humans my sword, which was issued to me to guard the path, but since the path was essentially, erm, worthless, I was let off. God knew, so, there’s also that. They haven’t chopped any heads or wings off, for starters, and Heaven accepted that it was part of the Plan, but they did put me back down here to, er… let Hell get away with it, so to speak.”

Crowley blinked at that. “They _what_?” He held a finger up, looking like he would blink if he’d remember to at the moment. “Wait… no, _what?_ ”

“It was part of the plan! You said so yourself, ‘you see a wile, you thwart!’ They basically told me I was so lousy an angel, I was qualified for the job of letting you slip past me to clean up the mess after. I wasn’t demoted, I was given the title to make it _seem_ like they gave me a slap on the wrist—”

“Wait, so—”

“I’m sorry, dear.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me? How old’s the Arrangement? Nine hundred and some—around a thousand years—"

“I didn’t feel great about it, either.” Aziraphale took a deep breath, swirling around the wine in his glass. “I just— _nobody_ wants to be told they’re so lousy at their job, they’re good for the job that lets them be lousy all the time. It was an honour, surely, I _was_ pulling Heaven’s weight down here, I did love it—still do! Even if it made me have _this_ , with you. But it feels—”

Crowley put his glass down on the floor and sat up to grab at Aziraphale’s glass. He put it down on the floor next to the other and held both of Aziraphale’s hands, sunglasses slipping down his nose as he stared up at the angel. “Hey, hey. I get it. Feels shitty, yeah? We’re past that! Adam said no more messin’ about with Head Offices, a’right? You’re no lousy angel. Lousy angels don’t stop unplanned Armageddons, do they?”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“So, who’re you calling lousy, eh? Not _my_ angel. It _had_ to happen, and you had to let me slip past you all the time. You weren’t bad at your job, it was meant to be like that from the Beginning, so you were doing what? Swimmingly. You were fantastic at your job. Alright?”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Aziraphale tried very hard not to sniff or tear up and he was failing immensely. “You’re right, dear. Thank you. I, er, don’t know what came over me.”

“Right, then.” Crowley nodded, looking Aziraphale in the eye, maybe to see if Aziraphale was going to start panicking again. “Heaven just commands everyone to do as they please and say that’s it? That’s according to the Divine Plan?”

“Right ‘til the end, dear.”

Crowley nodded.

“Doesn’t make sense.”

Aziraphale pinched Crowley’s knee, relishing in the resulting mock pained yelp.

“What the—What’s your deal, angel?”

Pushing Crowley’s feet off his lap, Aziraphale stood and grabbed their wine glasses from the floor. “I’m getting hungry. You still owe me lunch.”

“Here, here! Whatever you request, your Royal Highney,” Crowley announced with a slap on Aziraphale’s arse. Aziraphale retaliated by hip-checking him on his way to their open-plan kitchen.

They _flew_ to Ilocos for those fun little sausages Aziraphale wanted.

* * *

When a few days later the Antichrist dropped in and sat with the angel on the back porch as the clouds flitted by*, smiling as he said, “You know you were both the best of them, right?” and gave Aziraphale a knowing** look, Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile back.

[*With the speed of something controlled by the visiting occult being.

**But not _that_ knowing look that stripped back every day in Aziraphale’s very long life.]

“Can’t say I do, dear boy. How so?”

“I don’t talk much to Grandma, but my cousin, y'know. _Jesus_.”

“Yeshua?”

“Yeah, Him. Cool bloke, gave me a glass of Coke out of the water dispenser.”

Aziraphale made an inquisitive sound at that. “That’s… a new trick.”

Adam laughed, “Right? He said it was a party trick He learned from Mr. Crowley way back, learned how to choose his drinks after that. Anyway, dropped by a few days ago, played with the Them and me and Dog. _Loved_ Tadfield, total tourist. Anyway.”

With a stifled laugh, Aziraphale nodded for him to continue.

“He said you and Mr. Crowley were the only… the only ones who acted with pure hearts. Most of the time.”

Aziraphale hummed.

“I mean, I get it. You spend long enough down here, you start picking some things up, like, leaving your stuff around and forgetting where you put it. Or, or, dropping something twice before saying ‘bollocks it’—”

“Mr. Young, mind your language.”

“Right. Sorry. Anyway, you’re not just someone who follows around anymore. You’ve learned to make up your own way about it,” Adam pushed through. "He says that's what's special about you two. And I mean, can't say no to that. Not lots of angels give me gifts ev'ry holiday."

Aziraphale leaned forward and placed a hand on his knee. “It's my pleasure. You really are wise beyond your years, dear.”

Adam beamed up at him. “Thanks! Anyway, want to watch me climb Mr. Crowley’s tree?”

With an exaggerated sneaking glance at the back porch window, Aziraphale gave Adam a conspiratorial look and bargained, “Only if you can get me the biggest, juiciest looking apple you can see.”

Adam’s smile turned sharp, rather more devilish looking than he probably meant to. “You got yourself a deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is [here](https://stubbornjerk.tumblr.com/>here</a>%20and%20my%20twitter%20is%20<a%20href=) so in case you're going to stab my weird take on worldbuilding this really old book, you can take a stab anywhere! i'm very vulnerable!
> 
> hope you enjoyed! leave a comment or whatever


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